


They Make You Swear and Swear

by angelowl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Bran Stark, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19392943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: It was with great sorrow Brienne accepted that she had not upheld her vows. She had done her best, but it hadn’t been enough. She had failed. Again. Just as she’d failed Jaime and Lady Catelyn and Renly before that. She heard Podrick desperately yelling for her release in her final moments and she cursed the fates for making him witness her execution.Brienne closed her eyes and prayed one last time, not for forgiveness, but for justice. For the faintest hope that a worthier champion would come along and do what she couldn’t, set things right. The axe came down and she woke with a jolt.





	1. Chapter 1

[](https://i.imgur.com/X9FFwX0)

~* Art by Ro_Nordmann *~

It took Brienne almost four years to see what was right under her nose the entire time. In hindsight, that ignorance was probably what allowed her to survive in his orbit as long as she did. King Bran had likely stopped monitoring her so closely after the first year or two passed and she remained ever the diligent, loyal, unquestioning servant. 

Tyrion hadn’t fared half so well. He met his untimely death three years to the day after Bran the Broken came to power. Looking back, Brienne can only guess that Tyrion’s inquisitive, clever mind had been his downfall.

Perhaps it had been the grove of weirwood trees that magically sprang up overnight outside the Red Keep that had first tipped off the Hand of the King that something unholy was stirring. The trees had grown at such an unnaturally rapid pace that they dwarfed the citadel within the span of a single year. It was universally agreed the spectacle was otherworldly, but most presumed the miracle was proof the gods blessed Bran’s reign. 

Or perhaps it had been Bran’s insistence that the bells ring out at increasingly frequent intervals to herald even the most mundane of occasions, despite Tyrion’s objections. Brienne had thought it a misguided attempt by the king to help the people reclaim their city, to remind the traumatized survivors that the evils the Dragon Queen had dealt them should no longer have power over them. What a naïve fool she’d been. 

Tyrion would’ve seen through it, recognized it as the power play it was. He would've _known_ that Bran was only employing the bells to terrorize the people, thereby keeping them in line and appropriately appreciative of their king, their savior.

Brienne would never know what finally turned King against Hand. All she knew was that Tyrion was there one day and gone the next. His body had been found in a dinghy brothel. Sam had informed them that Lord Tyrion had drunk himself into a stupor and choked on his own vomit. 

At the time Brienne had accepted this pronouncement without question. But later, it would niggle at her like a loose tooth, most noticeably whenever she caught Lord Bronn in an unguarded moment. Bronn still cracked jokes and exuded the same callous pragmatism, but every so often his expression would stutter then freeze and Brienne would swear there was an undercurrent of guilt to his grief. She tried to dissuade Pod from spending his free time in the company of the Master of Coin after that.

There were days she wondered if Tyrion hadn’t been anywhere near as clever as advertised. And days she feared it had been just the opposite. It made her uncomfortable to consider the role he’d played in sending Jaime to his death and the sequence of events that followed, all leading to Tyrion endorsing Bran as King and being named Hand in return. 

Jaime had always spoken so highly of Tyrion. It was clear he’d loved his brother fiercely and tried to do right by him. It beggared belief that Tyrion would repay that loyalty by making a deal with the Stark boy that involved sacrificing the last of his family for his own personal gain. But then again, there was little that didn’t beggar belief in recent years. 

The suspicious manner of Tyrion’s death didn’t clarify matters. Whether he colluded with Bran from the start and enabled his machinations or he was unwittingly used as a pawn in the king’s game and paid the ultimate price once he learned of the stakes, Brienne would never know. Either way, it was almost certain he knew too much and had been killed for it.

In the wake of Tyrion’s death, Bran depended on her more than ever. Initially, Brienne had been honored that he took her into his trust so completely, that he chose her to step into the role of his closest confidant. But when the king began musing aloud in her presence, his eerie words gave her pause. It was almost as if he was unaware he was doing it sometimes, as if he was talking to himself and had forgotten she was there. 

He would whisper things that chilled her to the bone. His little offhand remarks added up over time, painting a picture worth a thousand words. Suspicions took root that so much of what had gone wrong for their side during the Battle of Winterfell and later in King’s Landing had been set into motion by Bran himself. 

That traitorous line of thinking was only bolstered when it became obvious he was blackmailing all of the key players of the realm, including his allies. His Grace would make allusions to secrets only the Three-Eyed Raven could know, compelling men to do his bidding or suffer the consequences. His distant, fey demeanor coupled with the fact he was a cripple made it so that few truly recognized the threat he posed even when he was the one handling them.

Brienne began to suspect the formation of the small council was just a pretense, a way to honor tradition and use it like a shield, obscuring the unsettling truth that it was one boy with unlimited powers moving everyone on his board like pawns to achieve his aims. Why had she ever thought that a king driven by detached logic would be preferable over one guided by the usual spectrum of human behavior? At least the latter could be influenced by outside opinion, could have their worst impulses curbed or redirected. The handful of times Brienne tried to subtly sway Bran in such a way, he had calmly thanked her for her counsel and then proceeded to double down on his original course of action.

One afternoon Bran told her the story of Hodor. She hadn’t known if he wanted absolution or if his confession was more of a veiled threat. All she knew was that when she returned to her quarters that evening, she broke out in a cold sweat and couldn’t stop shaking for hours afterward. 

Her king had the power to alter the past, to make or just as easily _unmake_ history, and it was _frightening_.

It wasn’t long after that that she started viewing even more of her king’s actions in a sinister light. When Bran first warged into the last surviving dragon, Brienne had been relieved that they had the means to track such a dangerous beast and keep it at bay when needed. But over time they heard reports of the dragon being sighted and doing untold damage…burning dissidents, including those who were even just tangentially rumored to be entertaining thoughts of rebellion. 

How _fortuitous_ that the dragon’s strikes were so strategic in their destruction. 

It made Brienne worry enough about the caches of wildfire still under the city that she tried to broach the issue with the Master of Ships only to have her stomach turn over when Ser Davos assured her the king had already taken care of it. The thought of where those caches might have been moved, of how they might be lying in wait, poised for future usage to shore up her king’s dominion, kept her awake at night.

She couldn’t share her suspicions with anyone lest she put them at risk. With the Three-Eyed Raven presiding over all, this went a bit beyond the walls having ears. And the isolation made her feel like she was losing perspective. 

Brienne thought of Jaime a lot in those days, of the position he’d been in when he was half her age, a young man of merely seven-and-ten. She’d always felt a kinship to him that eclipsed all others, but it took on a new shape now. For so long she’d locked her memory of him away in a corner of her mind so it wouldn’t hurt so much. But now she felt so alone that it was like his ghost was her only friend.

She whispered her fears to him in the night and could swear she almost heard his voice saying he understood, that she was strong and brave. That she should stay vigilant and protect herself, whilst readying herself for what might come next, what she might need to do. 

The thing that made her feel utterly out of her depth was that it wasn’t so black and white in her case. Her king hadn’t threatened to wipe out the population of King’s Landing. Historically speaking, she knew that dubious politicking, including grand-scale manipulation and intimidation, played a vital role in ruling. Even Queen Sansa dirtied her hands on occasion. But where was the line?

It was only after Drogon mercilessly burned the Ironborn after Yara made a play for independence that Bran wouldn’t countenance that Brienne knew the time had come. If she didn’t act, the Dornish would surely be next. Drogon was an even deadlier weapon in Bran’s arsenal than he had ever been in the Dragon Queen’s.

Brienne prayed not to the Warrior or the Mother, but to Jaime, to give her strength and clarity of will to see this through.

But what was strength and clarity of will against an all-knowing entity?

Her treasonous plot had barely formed in her thoughts before she was taken into custody and being marched out to the headsman’s axe.

As she knelt, she summoned up the memory of another time she had lowered herself to her knees thus. Brienne remembered looking up at Jaime, delighting in how the fierce pride burning in his gaze had matched the swooping joy in her heart just before she rose to stand before him as a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. 

It was with great sorrow Brienne accepted that she had not upheld her vows. She had done her best, but it hadn’t been enough. She had failed. Again. Just as she’d failed Jaime and Lady Catelyn and Renly before that.

She heard Podrick desperately yelling for her release in her final moments and she cursed the fates for making him witness her execution.

Brienne closed her eyes and prayed one last time, not for forgiveness, but for justice. For the faintest hope that a worthier champion would come along and do what she couldn’t, set things right.

The axe came down and she woke with a jolt.

*****

Brienne jerked so hard she almost fell over, but Jaime was there at her elbow, steadying her, his concerned face filling her vision. She blinked twice, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her or if this was the afterlife.

" _Jaime_." His name escaped her in a whisper, her voice quivering with love and longing.

His startled expression didn’t really register with her as she surged forward to embrace him. He was warm and solid, and smelled just the way she remembered. His arms came up around her after a moment as if uncertain, but he tightened his grip on her when she whimpered against his neck.

The clearing of a throat brought Brienne back to her senses and she turned her head toward the source of the sound. Samwell Tarly was seeing to Podrick’s injuries. Sam appeared amused while Pod respectfully averted his gaze. 

Brienne remembered this. After the more seriously wounded had been tended to after the Battle of Winterfell, she had forced Pod and Jaime to come with her to visit Sam and be stitched up. With a shaking hand she reached up to touch her forehead and her suspicions were confirmed. Her face was battered and her fingertips came away with traces of blood. But how could this be?

She turned back to Jaime. His cuts and bruises were still fresh and there was snow falling outside the window behind him. Jaime’s thumb grazed her cheekbone and he murmured, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Brienne stiffened and then took a hasty step backward. “I – I apologize, Ser Jaime. This was…inappropriate. I must go check on Lady Sansa.” 

She practically bolted from the room. She blindly raced down corridor after corridor until she found an empty stairwell where she could lean against the wall and catch her breath.

Had it all been a dream? A particularly vivid nightmare where her worst fears were realized? Or had every awful thing that happened been reality and this right now was the fantasy? 

The world felt real enough. From her aching body, mottled black and blue from the battle, to the bite of the frigid air when she ventured out into the courtyard. The stench of the dead was just as pungent as she’d recalled. 

She would just have to bide her time and wait to see how things played out.

*****

It hurt to look on Jaime. A big part of her thrilled at the thought that he was alive, savoring his every breath, his every word, while another part sounded the alarm. Dread pooled low in her belly. Brienne was deathly terrified she wouldn’t be able to save him from himself this time either. Oh, how she loved him still. Just standing at his side, feeling his shoulder brush against hers, made her heart soar.

He kept shooting her probing little glances. It was no wonder he was still disconcerted by the familiar way she had spoken his given name and thrown herself at him that morning. Even after he knighted her and they fought side by side, there had been a distance between them. It was only after Jaime followed her to her chambers the night of the feast that their walls had come down and they’d reached for each other. 

Brienne had no intention of repeating that mistake, however, so she drew up her well-worn cloak of formality and shuttered her expression.

“We’re here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters. To our fathers and mothers. To our friends. Our fellow men and women who set aside their differences to fight together and die together so that others might live. Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid. It is our duty and our honor to keep them alive in memory. For those who come after us, and those who come after them, for as long as men draw breath. They were the shields that guarded the realms of men and we shall never see their like again.”

The funeral pyres were lit and Brienne stared unseeingly into the plumes of smoke. Jon’s speech had been the same word for word. But then again, the speech was hardly original. It was in the same vein of most delivered in the aftermath of battle. Her imagination could have correctly anticipated the pretty words he would use to honor the fallen.

There was one act ahead she couldn’t have anticipated though, one that happened early in the feast, and if it came to pass, it would confirm history was repeating itself and that she would need to intervene to stop the cycle.

With a heavy heart she took her seat in the Great Hall that night and waited for her fears to be realized. Sure enough, she didn’t have to wait long for Gendry to be made Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Brienne studied the Dragon Queen congratulating herself on her diplomatic prowess then glanced at the Three-Eyed Raven whose blank gaze frightened her more than Daenerys’ fiery temperament ever had.

In her distraction, she’d forgotten what came next so she flinched when Jaime’s hand covered hers and drew her hand away from her cup to pour her a drink. Brienne looked at him in dawning horror. Instead of toasting him, she leapt to her feet. She tried to smile, but she suspected it resembled more of a grimace as she haltingly excused herself.

She returned to her chambers and wrote Lady Sansa a long, detailed message she hoped would serve the realm well, one that would give them a chance at a future where concepts like mercy and freedom and justice weren’t just illusory.

When she was done, Brienne pocketed the scroll and let clear-eyed, single-minded purpose suffuse her, let its clarity light her way.

*****

Brienne sought out Bran first in the godswood. Her measured footsteps in the snow sounded as loud as war drums to her ears, and yet he didn’t see her coming. She was probably the _only_ thing he hadn’t seen coming in years.

She was looming over him, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword, before he finally saw the truth of things.

“You’ve changed. You’re not from this time. How?” Bran said in that same dispassionate tone anyone else would use to inquire about the weather.

She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Brienne stared at him and thought of the oath she’d made to this same young man, her king. She thought of how she’d sworn herself to Lady Sansa, and Lady Catelyn before her. She’d been the Starks’ fiercest protector for over a decade. 

She could try to assuage her guilt by claiming that this wasn’t Bran Stark before her, but merely the Three-Eyed Raven, but it would not be entirely accurate. He was both, he had been both in all the time she’d known him. This was a betrayal, an act of evil, but a necessary one. Some things were more important than oaths, than honor.

She drew Oathkeeper and decided against reading out his sentence the way she had Stannis before she executed him. Brienne didn’t wish to try to allay her own doubts or frame this as something nobler than it was. 

His face cleared of that otherworldly haze for once and his keen eyes sparkled brightly in the moonlight, glittering like jewels. “You know,” he said simply, a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips. 

“I know,” she agreed before plunging her sword into his heart.

*****

After all her time at Winterfell, Brienne knew every corridor, every stairwell, every shortcut like the back of her hand. Most everyone was still at the feast which made it easier to slip through the castle undetected.

It hadn’t been coincidental that Sansa had installed Daenerys in the spacious set of rooms that just so happened to possess a secret passageway. Only the Stark girls, and Brienne by extension, knew of its existence. Not even Jon was aware of it or he would have promptly moved his queen elsewhere. Brienne assumed the sisters had arranged it just in case matters escalated with Daenerys and they deemed it necessary for Arya to intervene.

The library was still in shambles after the wights had taken the fight inside the castle walls, but Brienne navigated the overturned bookshelves easily enough. She engaged the sliding bookcase in the southeast corner of the library and crept through the hidden door. The passageway was narrow so it was a tight squeeze, but she angled her body slightly and was able to press on. It was a good thing she hadn’t worn her armor. 

She followed the winding path and was soon deposited in cramped, yet well-appointed quarters directly above the queen's via a hinged portrait of a Stark ancestor. As expected Sansa had ensured the space was empty for just such an occasion. 

Brienne quickly moved the bed just enough to spy the promised trap door beneath. She undid the latch and opened it to reveal a ladder built into the passageway. Brienne followed it down until she reached the false wall. The threshold was located in a shadowy corner of Daenerys’ rooms which should allow her to enter unnoticed. Besides, it shouldn’t be a problem since it was unlikely the queen would’ve returned to her rooms already since the feast was still in full swing. 

She was wrong. She heard the queen humming faintly when she stepped through. There was a tall dresser conveniently positioned that shielded most of Brienne from view. If she’d been of average height, it wouldn’t have even been an issue, but as it was, she had to quickly duck to keep her head out of sight.

Brienne cursed her flaxen hair, fearing it’d already drawn Daenerys’ eye, but she needn’t have worried. The queen was facing away from her, ensconced in a plush armchair, her furrowed profile suggesting she was lost in thought. Troubled. She brushed her long silvery locks and peered into the mirror as if searching for answers.

Brienne couldn’t recall why that would be. She’d been so tipsy the first time around, lost in her own bubble of gentle teasing and laughter and belonging that she hadn’t noticed the Dragon Queen leave the feast early. Whatever the reason, it made what Brienne had to do that much easier. And that much harder.

It was despicable killing a petite, unarmed woman whose nearest guard might as well have been a world away for all the good he could do from the wrong side of the door.

Brienne had never killed anyone so ignobly before tonight, but she reasoned that the circumstances made a fair fight between them impossible. Daenerys’ dragons were her weapons and not even an army wielding steel could hope to stand against them. Even the scorpions had only managed to fell one of her dragons, and that was only because the queen had been taken by surprise. That insurmountable disparity in power coupled with the queen’s nascent madness were the very things that sealed her fate. 

If there were another path, Brienne couldn’t see it.

As the funeral pyres had burned earlier that day she’d tried to make a plan for what she would do if the evening followed the same script. There would be no reasoning with Bran, she knew, but she’d considered less extreme methods of fending off the Targaryen threat such as approaching the Starks to warn them about the Dragon Queen or pleading with Daenerys herself to persuade her to embrace mercy and justice.

Tyrion had once told her that the woman he’d met years before had insisted she hadn’t wanted to be the Queen of Ashes. But he’d also said that while he believed Missandei’s beheading was the catalyst for his queen’s murderous rampage, he traced the beginnings of her descent even further back to her learning of Jon’s lineage. And unfortunately, hours before time had been reset, Jon had already confessed his secret to her. 

Uncertainty had still plagued Brienne. What if her actions had unintended consequences? What if somehow she just made everything worse? But what could be worse than thousands upon thousands of innocent people being burned alive in the streets and a young man with godlike powers sitting the throne, molding the world to his liking?

As the billowing smoke from the pyres burned her eyes and lodged in her throat, she'd kept returning to the one thing she knew to be true…her window of opportunity was closing. If she gave Bran the chance to see her coming, he’d snap his fingers and she’d be dead in the womb. 

And due to their victory against the dead, tonight would be the last time everyone’s defenses would be lowered and it’d still be possible for her to get close enough to Daenerys to do what needed to be done. If she waited, took a gamble on reasoning with the queen, informed her of the upcoming ambush by Euron's fleet as a gesture of goodwill, and it turned out to be a miscalculation, Daenerys would have two dragons instead of the one to turn King’s Landing into a blazing inferno. 

Brienne had fervently declared she wouldn’t let that happen. And now, within striking distance of the queen, she vowed it again. Lives were hanging in the balance and she would not fail them. 

To steel her resolve, she called up her memories of the devastation the queen had wrought on the capital: the staggering loss of life, the way that years after the fact people still dove to the ground, cowered in doorways, wept uncontrollably, whenever the bells rang out. Brienne thought lastly of Jaime, the Red Keep collapsing on top of him. 

She crept up behind Daenerys and slit her throat before the Dragon Queen ever even knew she was there. 

Brienne lowered her body to the bed then turned away with a heavy heart. 

There was just one more thing she needed to do. She pulled out the scroll she’d kept in her pocket and tried not to imagine the expression of betrayal that would haunt her lady’s face as Brienne surrendered herself to her and Sansa read her confession. 

She had just spun around to go back the way she came when Jaime emerged from the false wall. He was breathing hard as if he’d been in a hurry. He edged around the dresser and glanced over her shoulder at Daenerys' prone figure on the bed before cursing roughly.

Brienne felt like she’d been plunged head-first into the Narrow Sea. Like time had slowed to a crawl and she was apart from the world, deaf and numb. Underwater, she was safe; she dreaded breaking the surface.

“What are you doing here?” she asked inanely.

Jaime rounded on her with palpable fury. “What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing? You were acting strange when you left the feast so I went looking for you. I finally spotted you outside the library, but you acted like you were on some covert mission so I followed you because what dirty deed could _Brienne of Tarth_ possibly be up to? The ladder gave me some trouble or I would’ve gotten down here sooner. I walked through the wall to find you standing over the Dragon Queen’s dead body which brings us up to date. Gods, Brienne, what did you _do_?”

The world came roaring back to her, bright and ugly and painful, just as she’d known it would. Brienne swayed on her feet.

“Your _beloved_ Sansa put you up to this, didn’t she? She wanted to get rid of the competition and used you to do it!” Jaime spat, keeping his voice down so as not to alert the guard outside the queen’s door. “Did she even think of the target she put on your back? You’ll be dead before sunrise! I knew the Starks were self-righteous hypocrites, but this is unconscionable. I would _never_ have sent you off to save that red-haired brat if I’d known she would betray you like this! All right, all right, we just need to think…there has to be a way out for you.”

“No, Jaime, it wasn’t her, it was all me.” Brienne licked her lips nervously. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I did what I had to do. I am going to surrender and confess everything. Soon you will all understand my actions even if you don’t approve of my methods.”

“The hell you’ll surrender,” Jaime growled. He reached out and grabbed the scroll she still held in one hand. “What is this? Is this your confession?”

He unrolled it and scanned it quickly, his face darkening further with each new line he read. When he finished, he looked at her as if he wanted to do violence. For a split second she was positive he was going to crush her against him and kiss her or kill her, but then he turned and tossed the scroll into the fireplace.

“No! What did you do? They’ll execute me for this, we both know that. They’ll kill me before they can even hear me out. That confession was my way of making sure that at least they’d know the truth of things after the fact and it wouldn’t all be for nothing.”

Brienne had barely gotten the words out before Jaime backhanded her with his golden hand. She doubled over from the force of the blow. She was in such a state of shock that she didn’t see it coming when Jaime came up behind her and got her in a chokehold, squeezing until everything went dark.

The last thing she heard was him saying her name in a broken rasp as if she’d wrecked him.


	2. Chapter 2

When she came to she was still on the floor of the queen’s chambers and Samwell Tarly was hovering over her. Her head throbbed as she tried to take in her surroundings. It looked like there’d been a struggle, objects were overturned on the table by the door, and there was a small pool of blood on the floor of the entryway to the hall. The queen’s body was no longer on the bed and Jaime himself was gone.

 _Jaime_. Why had he attacked her? It came to her in a flash: Jaime had staged the scene so it would appear he'd attacked Brienne when she attempted to stop him from killing Daenerys.

“Where is he?”

“They took him, my lady,” Sam says fretfully.

It was as she suspected which would mean there was no time to lose. “Where?”

“The war room.”

Brienne raced through the labyrinth of corridors with Sam hot on her heels. Blood thundered in her ears. Jaime had died trying to save his sister the last time and she’d be damned if he used her as an excuse to throw his life away this time around. 

She burst into the room with a shout and was relieved to see Jaime still alive even if he were bleeding profusely from his nose and was trussed up like a pig. He was on his knees in the middle of an angry throng comprised of the Starks, Tyrion, Varys, and Davos. Brienne could only thank the gods that Grey Worm and the Dothraki weren’t present. Jaime would already be dead if they were.

Aside from Jaime, Sansa and Tyrion were the only two who paid her interruption any heed. The rest were too busy arguing over each other about who got to kill the Kingslayer, how it would be done, and what manner of torture needed to be inflicted at length first before the deed was carried out. That last bloodthirsty demand naturally came from Arya and made it plain that this quasi-trial wasn’t only about the Dragon Queen. When Brienne came to stand before Sansa, her lady’s pinched face confirmed they’d discovered Bran’s body, too.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sansa said in an undertone to her, grasping her elbow. “I know you tried to stop him. No one blames you, but justice will be served. He killed my brother, too.”

“He did not,” Brienne said simply. She turned to address the room. “I am the one responsible for killing Daenerys Targaryen and Bran Stark. Ser Jaime is only trying to cover for me.”

“Don’t embarrass yourself like this, wench,” Jaime practically snarled. “I know you fancy yourself my knight in shining armor because you’re _ridiculous_ , but this is beyond the pale. Who would ever believe the honorable Maid of Tarth, sworn sword to the Starks, would commit such atrocities? Do us all a favor and leave me to my fate.”

She’d never seen Jaime so furious or so terrified. Some petty part of her was glad that the shoe was on the other foot. At least in this lifetime she’d be the one going to her doom first and he’d be the one who wouldn’t be able to stop her. 

Brienne felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her, the same intense scrutiny that had unnerved her when she’d publicly defended Jaime after his arrival in Winterfell. She’d been self-conscious and awkward then, but her conviction had straightened her spine, lifted her chin. The stakes were even higher now. She couldn’t save herself, but she could give the rest of them a fighting chance. 

“I lived five years beyond this night. I died in that future and woke up back in time this morning. I know not by what magic, but I know its purpose. I was sent back to try to set things right.”

The Starks all studied her with some combination of irritation and pity. Sam looked at her with sympathy, Davos and Tyrion with skepticism, and Varys with dawning interest. Brienne avoided Jaime's eye, but it was a good guess he was seething with rage and wanted to chop her head off himself right now.

“I can prove it. I know things I shouldn’t. Things that only time would have revealed.” She shifted to face Jon directly. “You are the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. You were born Aegon Targaryen and are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

Everyone assembled turned toward Jon and when he bowed his head and didn’t deny it, a gasp went up. Tyrion and Varys shared a meaningful look. Sansa covered her trembling mouth and Arya’s eyes went distant as if she were working out the mechanics of the revelation.

Jon recovered enough to dart an accusatory glance at his closest friend. 

Sam looked aghast at the notion and threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t tell her, I swear it! I didn’t tell _anyone_!”

Brienne turned to Davos. “I know that Lady Shireen was the one who taught you to read. I know you carved a wooden stag for her and it was only when you found its burnt remains that you knew what had been done to her. I know this because you told me, Ser. Within the year you would have been made Master of Ships and I would have been appointed the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. We would have worked together side by side for years and shared countless conversations.”

She turned to Tyrion. “I know about Tysha. A year from now when you were well into your cups, you told me about her and how she used to sing The Seasons of My Love.”

Tyrion blanched and retreated a step as if warding off a threat.

She met Arya’s sharp gaze and saw the challenge therein, daring Brienne to convince her. “I know that Gendry proposed to you tonight.”

Both Sansa and Jon’s heads whipped around so fast it was almost comical. 

Arya scowled and muttered, “I turned him down.”

Brienne felt a twinge of guilt at betraying her confidence. As far as she knew, she was the only one Arya had confided in. She’d told Brienne the entire story just before she set sail for parts unknown, likely because she assumed she was the only one who would understand. Who would agree that marrying a man and settling down ‘wasn’t her.’ Brienne had lied by omission, sensing that her truth wasn’t the reassurance Arya needed just then. Her instincts had been validated when she saw the impact her supportive words had on the youngest Stark girl. Arya had appeared visibly lighter after they’d spoken. 

Arya hadn’t understood that they weren’t cut from the same cloth. Brienne had been a starry-eyed girl once upon a time, not unlike Sansa, who’d wanted nothing more than to marry and have children. It was only after a string of cruel rejections and reminders from her septa to see the truth of things in the looking glass that she had chosen a less conventional path for herself. Arya didn’t know that Brienne would have given anything for Jaime to have proposed to her the way Gendry had to Arya. No one knew and that was for the best, all things considered.

“I could share stories you told me about your childhood, Sam, but I think I’ve already proved my point. What you need to know is this: Euron Greyjoy’s fleet is lying in wait to ambush your forces when you travel to Dragonstone. They would’ve used the scorpion to kill another of the queen’s dragons, destroy the Targaryen ships, and take Missandei hostage.” 

She turned to Varys and Tyrion. “You both would have persuaded the queen to parley with Cersei so the people would know she’d made every effort to avoid war, but at this meeting, Cersei would’ve had Missandei beheaded in front of Daenerys. Your queen’s grief in addition to her knowledge of Jon’s parentage would’ve caused her to become increasingly paranoid and volatile.” 

Brienne met Varys’ eye. “You began to have doubts whether the Dragon Queen was fit for rule and once you learned Jon’s claim was stronger than his aunt’s, you decided it would be better for the realm to put him on the throne instead. You tried to spread the word of his lineage and were executed for your treachery.” 

Varys nodded gravely as if that were only to be expected, and that he'd do it again if the good of the realm required it.

She turned to Jon. “As expected your forces prevailed in King’s Landing. Daenerys used Drogon to destroy Euron’s fleet and eliminate most of the Golden Company. The city gate was breached and you and your men marched on the capital. The bells rang out, signaling the city’s surrender. The Lannister troops threw down their swords, but that didn’t placate the Dragon Queen’s bloodlust. She mercilessly rained fire and blood down on the people below, including the innocent civilians Cersei had packed inside the gate to serve as her human shield. Thousands were massacred before anyone even knew what was happening.”

Brienne couldn’t help sparing a glance for Jaime. Anguish darkened his features at the prospect of his finest act having been undone by the savage whim of the Mad King's daughter. 

“But it wasn’t just her dragonfire that decimated the opposing forces. Your men had a hand in it, too,” she said to Jon. “Ser Davos would tell me later of how the Unsullied and the Dothraki and the Northerners all went into a frenzy when your queen started torching King’s Landing. They raped and pillaged without compunction. You and Davos tried to intervene, killed a few of your own to stop the atrocities, but you were only two men and could only do so much.”

A long silence fell over them all. Brienne had never been a natural-born storyteller so she feared she wasn’t connecting the dots for them as she ought. It was difficult for her to pinpoint what was relevant, what was necessary to divulge to accurately represent what had happened, and what would only confuse or overwhelm. If only Jaime hadn't tossed her confession into the fire. She'd always been better at expressing herself on paper than in person. She was confident her written account would have been easier to digest.

Sansa was the first to regain her composure. “What does Bran have to do with any of this? What did he ever do to anyone to merit such a violent end?”

From the drawn expressions on the faces around her, Brienne thought they probably believed most of what she’d told them about the Dragon Queen. Even Jon. But she was well aware they’d brand her a liar the moment she recited Bran’s crimes. Nothing she could say would ever convince the Starks that her execution of him was justified. She still intended to say her piece, because it was the truth and they deserved to hear it, but she’d known from the beginning that this was the death that the Starks would never understand, never forgive. Nor should they. She’d be lucky if she got more than a couple lines out before Arya stuck a dagger in her gut.

“He became king,” Brienne said simply, watching a wave of surprise ripple over those assembled. “Jon killed Daenerys to stop her from doing more harm and was sent north of the wall for his crime. A meeting was convened where Tyrion championed Bran Stark as the next King of the Six Kingdoms and it was decided that you would take the throne as the Queen of an independent North, Lady Sansa.”

Though Sansa appeared so glacially implacable as to be carved out of ice, there was a flash of naked longing that flitted across her face at the mention of an independent North. 

Brienne shifted slightly to study Tyrion to see if her suspicions were correct. He looked grim, but there was no hint he had any prior knowledge of this arrangement. But neither did he look quite as surprised as everyone else. She would likely never know if he’d already made a deal with Bran in advance of the summit or not. And she supposed it no longer mattered now that Bran was dead.

“I served King Bran for almost five years as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His maneuvering was so subtle, the way he arranged everyone to his liking so seamless, that I didn’t see it for what it was until it was too late.”

Brienne heard her own voice as if from a great distance, as if a stranger was telling her story. For so long she’d been trapped with her thoughts, her fears, unable to voice them to anyone, that it was almost surreal that she could unburden herself now. Whatever else happened, it was a gift to share her truth, to have it be heard. She knew that Jaime would believe every single word she spoke even if the rest didn’t, and that was enough. 

“The king began musing aloud in my presence about the past, present, and future. I don’t think he was always aware he was doing it. Perhaps preserving that breadth of knowledge inside his head meant that by necessity it had to leak like a sieve occasionally to free up some space. I overheard fragments of thoughts and plans and memories at first and was only able to piece them together over time. This is what I learned…” 

Brienne shifted her attention to Jon who looked mutinous as if he was just waiting for her to finish so he could cut her down where she stood. “He urged Sam to tell you of your Targaryen parentage, knowing the truth would create a rift between you and your queen. He knew you would pull away from her when you discovered she shared your blood. He knew Daenerys would in turn become more isolated and mistrustful, paranoid you would take what she believed to be rightfully hers. He knew it would ripple out from there and that soon her chief advisors would turn against each other when the news reached their ears, thus dividing members of her own camp and weakening her forces.” 

She turned to Tyrion who at least seemed more receptive to her claims. “Bran advised you to send your brother into the Red Keep to urge your sister to surrender. He did this knowing it would make no difference. Bran foresaw the bells ringing and the devastation to King’s Landing that would follow, and he didn’t try to prevent it because it served his purpose. He wanted it to happen. And he wanted to ensure that both your siblings died so that they could pose no future threat to him.”

Brienne scrutinized Tyrion, desperately trying to see if she could discern any complicity on his part, but he was as hard to read as ever. He appeared haunted by the events she was describing, but she couldn’t be sure if a whisper of guilt flickered behind his gaze or not.

“Bran’s actions paved the way for all viable contenders for the throne to die or be exiled except for the one conveniently related to him, the one he knew would be only too happy to run the North and stay out of his way.” Brienne tried to soften her words when she referred to Sansa, but her lady wavered on her feet as if she’d been struck. “And the one he made his Hand,” she said with a nod for Tyrion.

“The Red Keep collapsed on the Lannister twins.” Brienne was proud of herself for the way she rattled it off as if it meant nothing more to her than the rest of the recitation that followed. “The Dragon Queen destroyed a city and proved she was her father’s daughter. Bran needed her to publicly condemn herself with an obscene display of sweeping cruelty and violence to prove the depths of her madness so that you would have no choice but to stop her, Jon. He _arranged_ it so that you would have to kill your queen and then take the black as penance, neatly taking both Targaryen heirs out of contention for the throne in one fell swoop.”

Jon’s face had gone ashen and he was clenching his teeth, but Brienne didn’t know if he was apoplectic with rage because he believed her or because he longed to punch her in her filthy, lying, traitorous mouth so she’d stop dragging his brother’s good name through the mud.

“He engineered everything so he would take the throne. And afterward, he worked through us, the small council.” Brienne paused to make eye contact with Tyrion, Davos, and Sam. “We were his puppets, his way of keeping up the pretense that it wasn't he alone shaping every aspect of governance. Three years into his reign there was a string of mysterious deaths, including yours, Tyrion. I could never prove it, but I came to suspect that you had learned something incriminating about our king’s dealings and he sent your old chum Ser Bronn, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Master of Coin, to silence you.”

Tyrion’s brows furrowed when Brienne posited the theory he’d been murdered by Bronn on Bran’s order, but she thought everyone else's mystification stemmed more from the revelation that a callous sellsword such as Bronn had been granted such a powerful position after the war. 

“Bran began warging into Drogon more frequently. At first we believed he did so to protect us and the smallfolk, to keep the beast from feeding on innocents and destroying farmland. Eventually it became obvious, though, that the king was using the dragon as a weapon to burn his adversaries.”

Brienne looked down at Jaime, needing to finish telling her story to the only person alive who would understand. Jaime looked haunted, pained for her, but he lifted his chin and held her gaze as if lending her support, courage, and her knees almost buckled in relief. “He bent reality to his will and gods help anyone who tried to stand against him,” she said and Jaime’s lips quirked knowingly.

“After the Ironborn were annihilated and the Dornish were next, I decided I had to stop him. But of course he saw me coming before I could make my move and I was led out to the headsman. The last thing I remember before waking up here the morning after the battle was the whir of the axe slicing through the air.”

Jaime started at that, visibly awash in a maelstrom of emotion. Horror and sorrow battled for supremacy as his gaze traced every contour of her face as if reassuring himself her head was still miraculously attached to her body.

“What of Cersei? Was she next on your list?” Arya asked, and there was a weird light in her eye that made Brienne think the Stark girl was genuinely entertaining the possibility that she was telling the truth. 

Before Brienne could answer, Jon took a step forward.

“Perhaps the truth is that your allegiance has shifted and you want the Lannisters to win after all. How are we meant to defeat Cersei without Daenerys? She and her dragons were our best chance at that. It’s true that the North has no interest in the Iron Throne, but after everything that’s happened, do you think Cersei will just accept that and leave us in peace?” Jon asked, his voice laced with contempt.

“No, I don’t,” Brienne said with a sigh. “But she can still be stopped. She’s a woman of flesh and blood, no more. She doesn’t have two dragons to burn the world to cinders in the time it takes to light a candle. She isn’t an omniscient green-seer who has the power to alter history, monitor what was, is and will be, and warg into animals so they do her bidding. I will leave her fate up to the usual battles of men.”

“The Unsullied and the Dothraki will never fight for us once they discover their queen is dead,” Tyrion pointed out.

“They will if I wear her face,” Arya said. “Just long enough for us to win the war, but for the queen to die bravely in battle, sacrificing herself for her people.”

“Wouldn't the dragons sense the deception?” Sansa asked.

“Jon and I can privately feel them out and if they reject me, we'll need to put on a show. The Dragon Queen will need to be killed in Winterfell. Ideally by an assassin sent by Cersei so that her allies rally to defeat the Lannister bitch. Jon will then have to take the lead with the dragons and confirm his Targaryen birthright.” Arya made it sound so simple.

“Yes, you will need to take the throne,” Varys insisted, his keen eyes boring into Jon. “You must step up and take what is yours. We know you don’t want it which is why you are the man for the job. It is your duty to be the just, merciful ruler the realm deserves. With you in the south and Lady Sansa ruling the North, Westeros can finally be set right.”

Jon didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree either, just continued silently brooding, so possibly there was hope for the realm after all. 

Brienne realized time was counting down for her and there were still two loose ends she needed to tie up.

“You should also know there were caches of wildfire placed under King’s Landing on the Mad King’s orders decades ago. Cersei knows of them and has already used it to bomb the Great Sept of Baelor, but her reserves aren’t depleted." Brienne's voice went tight and reedy with the need to impress upon them the severity of the situation. "It’s _imperative_ you consider how you might take control of the pots of wildfire that remain _before_ seizing Cersei. Just as surely as the Dragon Queen would have burned it all down to get her way, so, too, would Cersei. She’d turn everything to ashes, including herself, just to win.” 

Brienne had never spoken of Cersei thusly, never said what she really thought of his sister in Jaime’s presence. She could feel the heat of his stare on her face and refused to glance his way. Would he radiate anger, betrayal, disappointment that she’d spoken ill of his beloved? Probably all of the above and Brienne didn’t think she could bear it. 

She turned to Jon instead. “You must also figure out a way for the dragons to exist in this world without your people paying the price. I saw the devastation of King’s Landing firsthand and anything that can do that kind of damage in that scant amount of time needs to be heavily controlled. And if they can’t be controlled then you will need to do what must be done.”

“As you did tonight,” Jon said between gritted teeth and there was such withering scorn in his tone that Brienne found herself blinded with fury for the first time since she’d been transported to the past.

“Yes, as I did tonight. As no one else would. Love made you look the other way. Made you both choose her over the good of the realm,” she said, gesturing between Jon and Tyrion. She saw Jaime flinch out of the corner of her eye and guessed that he had rightly come to the conclusion that she judged his devotion to his sister just as harshly and that some of her anger was reserved for him, too. “You _both_ saw what was happening and you did _nothing_. You let thousands of innocents die because you’d declared her your queen and didn’t want to admit your judgment had been compromised. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but neither do I regret it. I did what needed to be done. I go to my death with a clear conscience and with hope that the world will be a better place when I leave it.”

“That could never be true!” Jaime roared and Brienne’s heart leapt at the ferocity in his voice. “You are the truest knight this sorry excuse for a world has ever known. Catelyn Stark told me that the day we met and she was right. Your actions tonight only confirm it. The world could never be _better_ without you in it!”

Brienne blushed, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Even on his knees, bloodied and bound, Jaime Lannister was half a god and spoke with the same lofty authority. He watched her in that arresting way of his she'd never been able to place. It was too intense to be mere respect. Too intimate to be admiration. She’d mistaken it for love briefly during their weeks together in Winterfell, but had been disabused of the notion shortly thereafter. Perhaps it was awe? Whatever it was, it made her blood sing, made her wish for nothing more than to bask in his blazing regard forevermore. 

“She bloodied her hands so that thousands of lives would be spared,” he continued. “Let any person who thinks they can match their honor and goodness against that of Ser Brienne of Tarth stand and be judged.” 

Jaime let the pause linger just long enough it could be construed as meaningful, before turning to Lady Sansa. “You know Brienne's character better than anyone. She has done _everything for you_ , up to and including what she did today. If the Dragon Queen had prevailed, how long do you think it would have taken for her to set her sights on you? Six kingdoms wouldn’t have been enough for her. Tell it to me true…do you really believe Brienne deserves to die for securing a chance at a better future for all of us?”

Sansa remained inscrutable, but her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. 

Brienne had accomplished what she set out to do and she knew what came next. Her chin quivered, but she met Jaime’s gaze one last time to give him a tremulous smile, acknowledging his impassioned defense of her. To say from one righteous Kingslayer to another, she understood and she would keep his faith in her close to her heart to warm her when she took her last breath. She remembered another night a lifetime away, one where she spent this very night in Jaime’s arms, and let that memory warm her, too.

Brienne squared her shoulders, gripping the hilt of her sword, her most prized possession, one final time. “I vowed to be brave. I vowed to be just. I vowed to defend the innocent. And that is what I’ve done. I know my life is forfeit, but it was worth it. I am a knight of the Seven Kingdoms and could do nothing else.” 

She drew Oathkeeper from its scabbard and when she did her blade flickered with silvery blue flames. 

“ _Lightbringer_ ,” Davos said in a hushed voice. 

The overwhelming wall of heat coming off her fiery blade made beads of sweat form on Brienne’s brow. She didn’t know what to make of it so she hastily placed it on the floor at the Starks’ feet then knelt to await their judgment.

Brienne sensed the Stark siblings carrying on an extended silent conversation overhead even though she kept her eyes dutifully trained on the floor. At last Lady Sansa stepped forward to stand in front of her flaming sword. 

“Ser Brienne.”

Brienne already knew what sentence would be passed. She’d known from the very beginning. Giving her life for this cause was right and fair. She deserved this fate, and it was worth it, it was, she reminded herself as she lifted her chin to receive the verdict. 

“In spite of everything, I still trust you,” Sansa said slowly in that clear, compelling voice that had always commanded respect, most especially Brienne’s. “I believe it was truth you spoke tonight and that you acted in accordance with your impeccable moral code. But you took up arms against a member of my family and I cannot abide that. I’m afraid I can no longer give you a place by my hearth or meat and mead at my table. You will leave Winterfell before dawn and never darken our door again on pain of death.”

Brienne gaped in astonishment and she heard the ragged, shuddery sigh of relief that escaped Jaime’s mouth behind her. Brienne’s gaze flitted to Arya then to Jon, waiting for them to overrule their sister and announce the murderous traitor would be shown no such mercy and executed forthwith. But both wolves just stared at her in stony silence. 

“You are banished as well, Ser Jaime,” Sansa said, looking past Brienne to meet his eye, “for conspiring after the fact and knowingly misleading us. ‘Twas only Ser Brienne’s word that kept you from burning when you first set foot in Winterfell and now that she is no longer welcome here, it only follows that neither is the one for whom she vouched.”

That was probably for the best, Brienne decided. This way Jaime wouldn’t have to flee like a fugitive in the middle of the night to return to his sister. 

“Podrick is to stay here as my guest until the war is over, Ser Brienne. After that if you still live and have not interfered further in any way, arrangements can be made for him to rejoin you wherever you’ve settled.”

It felt like there was gravel in her throat when she swallowed, but Brienne forced herself to speak. “I understand…Lady Sansa,” she rasped out. Habit almost had her address Sansa as ‘my lady,’ but she stopped short at the thought that she wasn’t hers anymore. 

Brienne felt like her strings had been cut. For the first time in years she was without a compass to guide her, utterly oathless.


	3. Chapter 3

They made the first leg of their journey in silence which suited Brienne just fine.

It had been gutting to part from Podrick. When she’d explained the situation to him, his face had gone ashen before he’d hauled her into a tight embrace. They’d never shared such casual displays of affection, not even when they both served under Bran in King’s Landing. But she’d thought of his ragged voice screaming for her release right before she was executed and hugged him back fiercely. She’d promised Pod that she’d write to him once she was settled and that after the war if he wanted to join her, he’d be more than welcome to do so. He’d said he’d have his bags packed when the time came. 

Her eyes had been rimmed with red when she approached Jaime in the stables afterward. The clench of his jaw and tension in his shoulders betrayed that saying goodbye to his brother had been similarly wrenching.

Her mind was curiously empty after the upheaval of events from not just the last day, but from the last five years. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and didn’t have the energy to think or to talk or to do anything more intensive than ride beside Jaime with her vacant gaze locked on the far horizon.

When they slowed their pace to navigate rockier terrain midday, Jaime finally turned to look at her in the grey winter light. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we.”

She appreciated his attempt at some much-needed levity and smiled wanly. “Yes, Kingslayers, Oathbreakers, knights without honor. Although I’m also a Queenslayer so I’m afraid I’ve one-upped you.”

“She was never your queen.”

“No,” Brienne agreed. “It doesn’t make it any better though.”

“In some ways I’m the one who put you in that position. I’m the one responsible for both tyrants’ rise to power. I killed the Mad King which set the Dragon Queen on her vengeful quest to take back what she thought was hers. I shoved Bran out the window which, according to Tyrion, put him on the path to ultimately becoming the Three-Eyed Raven. If I hadn’t done that, he'd have led a normal life...grown up to become the Lord of Winterfell, married some nice girl, popped out some kids. All of that would've been preferable to his plotting world domination.” 

“Quite right. Jaime Lannister is the center of the universe after all. Everything hinges on him,” Brienne said lightly and shook her head when he barked out a laugh. She thought about it a little more then shrugged. “Half a million people would have died if you hadn’t stopped the Mad King. And Bran could have just as easily taken a fall without a nudge from you, resulting in the same fate. Cause and effect isn’t so clear cut. Believe me, I know. Even now I’m not sure if what I did will save us or if it’ll backfire somehow and cause some new threat to emerge that’ll be even worse than the Dragon Queen and Three-Eyed Raven combined.” 

They lapsed into silence again after that, but her sluggish mind stirred and she felt less numb. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, she wasn’t just going through the motions anymore. She was alert and present which meant she was less liable to get herself killed on the road south. On the other, it hurt to think, to care, to plan. She hadn’t counted on there being an afterward when she’d set off on her mission and now she had to figure out what came next.

Their bodies were still battered and aching from the Battle of Winterfell and the snow had continued to pile up so they opted to check into an inn for the night. Without speaking it was understood they’d share a room. There was still a chance the truth would come out and someone less forgiving than the Starks would track them down, slip into their room and try to slit their throats. They’d have a better chance of survival if they took shifts sleeping so the other could remain on guard. Her limited funds also needed to stretch as long as possible to cover her journey. She anticipated many cold nights sleeping under the stars in her future.

After they took off their armor and were down to their shirts and breeches, Brienne experienced an eerie sense of déjà vu as she fed the fire.

_You keep it warm enough in here... It's the first thing I learned when I came to the North._

_That's very diligent, very responsible... Piss off._

_It grows on you... I don't want things growing on me._

_You sound quite jealous... I do, don't I._

The memory wreaked havoc on her equilibrium. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable, especially without her armor and in such close quarters as this.

When Jaime fiddled with the buckle on his gold hand and cursed under his breath, Brienne approached him without thought. Her fingers deftly worked the straps as they’d done countless times before. It was only when he stiffened that she realized her mistake. 

This familiarity hadn’t existed between them before they slept together, before he moved into her room and this became part of their nightly ritual. She suddenly felt like the foolish, besotted maiden she’d been that first night he showed up at her door with Dornish wine. She hated how easy she was to read, how her cheeks colored, betraying her embarrassment, as she willed herself to complete the task.

Jaime studied her intently as she swiftly relieved him of his hand. Brienne turned away to put it on the bedside table, glad to escape his scrutiny.

“When Lady Sansa gave you that reprieve, you were disappointed,” he said slowly. “You wanted to die.” 

It was rich that he should level such an accusation at her.

“No. I’m not…suicidal,” she said. I’m not you, she didn’t say. “I’m just unmoored. I’ve built my entire adult life around other people and my oaths to them…Renly, Catelyn, Sansa, Bran…I will simply need to figure out what I will do with no one else to guide my course. I would think you of all people would understand that better than most.”

He nodded in acknowledgment then pinned her with his piercing stare. “So, what have you decided then? What can we expect at our final destination?”

“ _We_ aren’t going anywhere. _I’m_ going to Tarth. _You’re_ returning to King’s Landing.”

Jaime bristled, the corner of his mouth curling up meanly. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “You’ll return and inform Cersei that the Dragon Queen is in fact dead, but that there's a new Targaryen she needs to worry about. You'll tell your sister her enemy was warned of Euron's ambush so she will need to change tactics.”

Jaime’s expression froze and his eyes glittered dangerously. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“It’s what I know of you.” Brienne knew she was being unfair to him. He hadn’t betrayed them before. He hadn’t handed over any information or even tried to help Cersei win. He’d merely returned to save his sister, his queen. If there were any betrayal, it was a personal one that was borne out of her own inadequacy instead of his. 

She softened slightly and couldn’t stop herself from taking a step toward him. “Jaime, I know family is the most important thing in the world to you, but could you please remember that you’re _more_ than just what you can do for them? You matter in your own right. And I know it goes against every fiber of your being, but do not trust them. Love them, love them as fiercely as you do, but do not trust them. Do what _you_ think is best.”

Jaime lounged against the wall, a study in blithe nonchalance, but his clenched fist gave him away. He was also watching her far too closely to be anywhere near as unconcerned as he was pretending. “Yes, I got that before when you eyeballed my brother as if he orchestrated my death.”

Brienne refused to deny it. She still wasn’t sure how culpable Tyrion was in all that had transpired that first time through, but she knew she’d never look at him the same way again, and didn’t want Jaime to ever forget that there was a sliver of a possibility his little brother had sold his family out for the sake of his own personal advancement.

Jaime tilted his head, his voice going low and mocking. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on how selective you were being with the truth when you confessed all to the Starks. We both know Cersei would never have surrendered.”

“No, she would not. Your brother did urge you to ring the bells if at all possible, though he told me he freed you chiefly so you could help your sister escape. But the Red Keep came down before you could make it to the boat.” Brienne hated the way her voice shook on the last few words. She inhaled sharply and tried to steady her nerves. “I didn’t think any of that was pertinent information. The Starks will need your brother’s counsel if they’re going to have any hope of survival and if they knew he had seemingly tried to show your sister mercy they would have imprisoned him or worse.”

Jaime looked like he was on the verge of thanking her so she forced herself to keep going. She didn’t think he’d be of a mind to express gratitude once he knew the full story. 

“You should be warned that I don’t think you can rely on his assistance again. Before we left Winterfell, I pulled him aside and told him something that was not my secret to tell, but that I thought he should know. Cersei is not pregnant. I do not know if she lost it or if…” Brienne trailed off and glanced away.

Jaime cleared his throat, his expression unreadable. “Or if there was never a baby to begin with,” he finished her unspoken thought.

“I only know this because when your bodies were recovered and prepared for burial, Tyrion wanted to acknowledge your unborn baby with a special marker on her grave. He’d been shocked when Sam informed him that it was clear to him she wasn’t pregnant and hadn’t been for some time.” 

Brienne folded her hands behind her back and tried to gentle her voice. “I am painfully aware that her pregnancy is nobody’s business, but yours and hers. The only reason I would ever speak of this to anyone is because Tyrion had told me several times after the war how the thought of a new nephew or niece had compromised his judgment. How he had believed Cersei would send her men north because she would have a vested interest in the outcome, how he had sent you to her in the end so that you could escape and raise your child on some remote island. He said he’d wished more than anything that he’d known the truth.”

“Do you believe him? Do you think he wanted us to have a chance at life or do you think he sent me in there to my death?” Jaime’s fingers drummed idly against his leg and for the first time that night he couldn’t quite meet her gaze.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I think he was haunted by what happened. I believe he genuinely mourned for you. But I…I don’t know.”

Jaime nodded then straightened, looking at her again with the same endearing vulnerability he’d exuded when he asked to serve under her command in the battle. He was on the cusp of saying something that would make it a hundred times worse when he returned to his sister so she headed him off at the pass. 

Before she could lose her nerve, Brienne bent over to grab her swordbelt. She drew Oathkeeper and was relieved to see that the flames had gone out. Brienne didn’t know what kind of sorcery that had been, but its power had unsettled her deeply. 

She allowed herself to admire the ripples of red and black that danced within the steel one last time before turning to Jaime. His self-satisfaction always bordered on smugness when he saw her wielding his sword and right then was no exception. However, his appreciation of her person took on a new dimension that night. There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes, the way his gaze had turned possessive as it raked her over from head to toe and _lingered_.

Brienne shivered involuntarily and was sure he hadn’t missed it from the way his face brightened as if absurdly pleased. He’d always liked how responsive she was. It must have flattered his ego that such a shy, reserved woman such as herself would swoon at his barest kiss. She cringed to think of how eager, how desperate, she must’ve seemed for his touch every night they’d fallen into bed together. It was that thought that strengthened her resolve.

“It is only right that you and I each wielded half of Ice during the Battle of Winterfell. It was a fitting tribute to the oath we both made to Lady Catelyn.”

Jaime grew increasingly wary as if he could sense where this was going. Brienne rushed to continue before he could interrupt her.

“It was a fitting last dance,” Brienne said simply before closing the distance between them to place the blade reverently at his feet, for she knew he would never willingly take it from her grasp.

 _"Brienne!_ " Her name sounded like it’d been punched out of him.

She remembered facing him inside a tent in Riverrun what felt like a lifetime ago. She remembered trying to return his sword and the words that had stayed her hand. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry. “It’s not mine. It never was.” There was no spite or anger to her pronouncement, only sorrow.

Jaime jerked as if he’d been struck and Brienne had to fight the urge to retrieve Oathkeeper and take it all back. She couldn’t bear to see the way his face crumpled momentarily before a mask of cold fury slid into place.

He ignored the blade at his feet and advanced, all leonine grace, so they were nose to nose. “So is that the big secret then? I betrayed you all after the battle and ran back to my sister with my tail between my legs? Is that why you hate me?”

“You didn’t betray us. And I don’t hate you. You returned to save your queen. It was…understandable, commendable even.” Brienne thanked the old gods and the new that her voice didn’t betray her. Her tone had remained calm and even as if she’d been the very model of mature rationality instead of the heartsick fool who’d spent countless nights weeping over him.

“Why then do you look at me one moment as if you think I hung the moon and the stars then look _through_ me the next? Why do you say my name as if it's sacred to you then insult me by flinging my title at me as if we were nothing more than strangers? Why do you unfasten my gold hand as if you’ve done it a hundred times before then eye me guiltily as if you were caught mid-crime? Why do you palm Oathkeeper's hilt with incandescent pride then have the audacity to try to give me back _your_ sword? Tell. Me. What. Happened.”

Cringing mortification made her stomach flip over. She couldn't believe she'd been that transparent. She wanted to flee, but there was nowhere to go.

Jaime gripped her wrist and Brienne tried to pull away. He lunged at her and tackled her to the bed. Blood pounded in her ears as she scrabbled with him. They’d never quite wrestled like this and it was as invigorating as she would have expected.

He fought dirty when it served his purpose…tickling her ribs, pulling her hair, and even biting her fingers when they tried to cover his mouth when his taunting became intolerable. But she was bigger, stronger, and it wasn’t long before she had him pinned under her. When Jaime smirked up at her and his good hand curled around her hip and _squeezed_ , Brienne froze in horror. Her palms were on his chest and she was _straddling_ him, panting and red-faced. It was positively indecent is what it was.

She awkwardly went to her knees, trying to dismount with as much dignity as possible when Jaime took her by surprise, rolling her under him and pinning her there. He planted his elbows on either side of her head so his face could hover over hers a mere whisper away. His hips pressed into hers without shame, turning their clinch sensual to unnerve her. And of course it worked. 

She yielded. It was instinct, the part of her that had always been more maiden than warrior, the part that loved him to distraction still. Brienne melted under Jaime the way she always had whenever they were like this and released a breathy sigh that sounded appallingly needy and girlish. 

She tried to turn away in embarrassment, but his thumb on her chin guided her to look at him. Brienne swallowed hard at the expression on his face. His hand ghosted over the angry goose egg on her temple, courtesy of the blow from his golden hand, before moving to cup her cheek gently.

“Tell me,” he said. 

Anger washed over her and she grasped it gratefully with both hands. It was certainly preferable to longing and heartache. “We fucked, all right! Is that what you want to hear?”

Jaime sucked in a breath, but his eyes danced with laughter. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where you uttered such profanity in my presence, Lady Brienne. But then there have been a lot of firsts lately. So we _fucked_ …that’s really how you’d put it? Do go on…” He grinned savagely, making Brienne want nothing more than to punch him in his stupid face.

He was right of course. There’d been far too much shy awkwardness on her part and aching tenderness on his for what they shared that first night to be anything approaching fucking. She’d even cried a little in the middle of everything because he was looking at her and touching her and moving inside her as if she were precious to him. It’d felt impossible, overwhelming, like something that only happened to other women. 

If her maidenhead was ever to be taken from her it was meant to happen on her wedding night in a dark room with a scornful stranger who rutted away atop her while imagining another more desirable woman in her place so he could do his duty. It wasn’t supposed to happen in firelight with a handsome, charismatic man like Jaime Lannister looking down at her with awe and desire in his eyes. And even more disconcertingly, with _familiarity_ because he knew her better than anyone else alive. He knew her and by some miracle had actually wanted her.

She’d tried to turn away then, too, to hide her damp cheek in the pillow so he wouldn’t see, but he hadn’t let her go then either. “Look at me,” he’d urged her and Brienne could do little else but obey. He’d wiped her tears away with his thumb and kissed her cheek and murmured her name with such want, she’d practically shaken apart under him. Jaime had thrilled at her reaction and repeated her name over and over just to see her blush and quiver. When she’d moaned his name in return, he’d gone wild, moving like lightning over her, but kissing her so sweetly she’d forgotten that she wasn’t the kind of woman who deserved affection, passion, love.

He’d stared deeply into her eyes as if she were a revelation as he’d found his release and she’d clutched at his back as he spilled the last of his seed. Brienne had barely caught her breath, the sweat cooling on her body, before he hooked her knee over his shoulder, buried his face between her legs, and worked her until she screamed in ecstasy. She’d tried to muffle the unholy sounds being wrenched from her, but Jaime had immediately pulled her hand away from her mouth to grip it in his own. He’d watched her intently from under his lashes as she unraveled again and again. His hand in hers had felt like the only thing anchoring her to that dimension so she’d held on with everything she had.

So if it wasn’t fucking, how would she have put it? She would have said that they’d been… _intimate_. That was the only word that even came close to describing what she’d felt that night. But she would rather be burned alive by dragonfire than admit it and she had a feeling, judging from the twinkle in Jaime’s eye, he could already guess the truth.

“Forgive me, I forgot about your delicate sensibilities. The night of the feast you came to my room and we…slept together. Is that better?” she said, shooting for flippant and missing the mark by a substantial margin if Jaime’s wry amusement was any indication.

“ _We slept together_ ,” he said slowly as if testing the words out and finding them severely lacking. “That sounds wildly reductive. Congratulations, you veered from crass vulgarity to bland neutrality in the blink of an eye, and I think the latter just might be worse. I’d take animalistic rutting any day over you considering our naked coupling some kind of chore. But don’t worry, I’m well aware it was neither and that the _honorable_ Brienne of Tarth is _lying_ through her crooked teeth.” 

He was hard against her thigh and made no attempt to hide his condition. He could have angled his hips so his desire wasn’t quite so plain to her the way he had those first few nights in Winterfell when he’d been trying not to overwhelm her, but he was making a point. Brienne felt her whole body flush from head to toe. She scowled as Jaime eyed the blotchy red that painted her neck, extending downward under the lacings of her shirt, with keen interest.

“Obviously based on your glare, things went south shortly afterward. Did I flee before you awoke the next morning to ride back to my sister?” he prompted her, sounding like the very thought was preposterous.

“No, not then. You stayed in Winterfell for a while longer.”

“A while?”

Brienne shrugged. “A month.”

“With you,” he said, his sharp gaze daring her to contradict him.

“Yes,” she said so softly it was almost a whisper.

“You said before that Euron ambushed the Dragon Queen and took down one of her thrice-damned dragons. Was that before or after I left Winterfell?”

Brienne didn’t see where he was going with this. “We received the raven about what had happened the day before you left.”

Jaime nodded, looking satisfied like she’d walked right into his trap. “So I waited to leave until Cersei was winning? I was fine sitting it out when Daenerys had _two_ dragons and their forces were at full strength? I was fine sitting it out when my sister had less than no chance of coming out on top?”

“You weren’t _fine_. I think you just were purposely putting it out of your mind. But then Bronn showed up and then we received word about the ambush and…”

“Bronn showed up? In Winterfell? What the fuck for?” he asked.

Brienne chewed her lip. This part had always confused her. "You told me he was sent on your sister’s orders to…to kill you and your brother with the same crossbow that had been used to kill your father.”

Jaime laughed, more of a humorless bark than anything else. “And that dredged up sweet memories of affection for my sister and I realized I must return to her post haste? Surely you jest!”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what was going through your mind. I’ve never been able to crack the Lannister code, but I suppose you thought she was bluffing. That she knew Bronn wouldn’t actually go through with it and this was her way of sending a message to you.” 

There was a mocking twist to his mouth that bordered on a sneer, though she suspected his contempt was aimed inward rather than outward. “Lannister code?” 

“Apathy is the opposite of love, not hate. By sending Bronn, she was telling you that she was still thinking of you, that you still mattered to her. It was effective. It certainly got your attention.” Brienne licked her lips nervously and flushed when Jaime’s gaze narrowed in on her mouth.

“That’s quite convoluted, not to mention diabolical even by Lannister standards, but pray continue," he said, his tone playfully imperious. "We were together for a month and then what?”

Something dark squirmed in her belly. “Why does it matter, Jaime?”

He lowered his head so he was close enough she could feel his breath on her face. His thumb flickered over her cheekbone and she gasped softly.

“Look me in the eye and tell me this doesn’t matter. Tell me to my face that this doesn’t matter more than anything else has ever mattered.”

“It didn’t matter to you.”

Jaime’s eyes darkened and there was the same violence in them she’d glimpsed before he’d thrown her confession into the fire, backhanded her with his gold hand, and stolen the breath from her lungs to keep her safe. Even in the early days of their acquaintance when he’d been nothing more than the monstrous Kingslayer to her, she’d never seen him give off such a menacing air of intimidation.

Brienne had never backed down from a challenge, though, so she focused on a point over his shoulder and recited the facts of their last encounter in a flat, dull voice. “You snuck out in the middle of the night. I followed you out and asked you to stay. I said you were not like your sister and didn’t deserve to die with her. You said everything you’d ever done was for her and that your sister was hateful and so were you. Then you rode off.” And left me crying in the dark, she didn’t add.

Jaime looked like he’d been turned to stone.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I misunderstood what I was to you,” she said stiffly. “It’s not fair of me to hold you to some promise you never vocalized. You didn’t break trust with me. You never lied to me. I should have always known how it would end. It was inevitable. You told me over and over how it was between you and… _her_ , yet somehow I thought it meant something had changed when you came north. But of course it hadn’t.” 

“If I took your maidenhead, I don’t think what you were to me is open to interpretation.”

She winced and closed her eyes briefly. “You made a mistake and didn’t want to hurt me by telling me the truth.”

Jaime leaned down to press his mouth against her ear. “Which is?” His voice was a dangerous purr.

Brienne kept her eyes shut, finding refuge in the dark. “That you were drunk that first night. That we’d survived the battle and you just wanted to reach out and feel another’s touch. Prove you were still alive. The same as anyone else.” They hadn’t been the only ones who’d thrown caution to the wind that night. And she certainly hadn’t been the only virgin to have bedded down with a partner with no betrothal in place to protect her reputation.

Jaime gave a low whistle. “So you’re saying I fucked you because I was drunk on spirits and life, and reached out to the nearest woman who just so happened to be you? Is that truly what you think of me? Of us?”

Brienne opened her eyes, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. And if she could, her mouth was so dry she doubted she could force a single word past her lips.

“Try again,” he growled. “I’ve won countless battles before and drunk to excess after, but my _cock’s_ never fallen into some random _cunt_ because my blood was up.” 

It was her turn to be stunned by his vulgarity. Her face flamed and her breathing went haywire.

“C’mon, Brienne, you know me better than that! Whatever my sins, a lack of self-control or a wavering sense of fidelity cannot be counted among them. For fuck's sake, I've only ever slept with one woman before you. Doesn't that tell you something? I would never jeopardize our relationship just to scratch an itch. You are the only person I’ve ever loved outside my family. Would I really bed you just because I was bored or lonely or riding a post-battle high? Does that sound like me?”

Her traitorous heart fluttered at the casual way he referenced his love for her as if it were an obvious fact of life they both took for granted. In all their nights together he’d never once used the word. Brienne pursed her lips. He was right. None of that did sound like him, but considering the unfeeling way he’d left her in the courtyard that night, the alternative seemed even less likely. 

Jaime nudged her chin up so she met his defiant gaze. “Why then did our relationship continue for weeks? Why didn’t I wake up that next morning and turn my horse south if it was just happenstance and some big mistake?”

She didn’t want to answer, but he prodded her. “Come on, out with it. I can see the wheels turning. I want to hear what you think.”

“Honor, kindness, pity…take your pick,” Brienne said curtly. “You’d taken my maidenhead and knew it would be cruel to turn your back on me the next morn. Whatever else is between us, I know you cared for me. You probably even thought you could learn to be happy, that I was a good woman you liked and trusted and that you owed it to me to at least try to make it work. But what is trust, respect, mild affection compared to true love? All I was, all I could give, couldn’t hold a candle to _her_. It’s only natural the lure of your sister eventually drew you out of my bed and back to her side.”

“Enough!” Jaime snarled. “That is not how it was. I know my own mind, my own heart, and none of what you say is true.”

“It is. Your last words to me were all about what you’d do _for Cersei_ , the woman who just sent a man to kill you. I didn’t ask you to stay, I _begged_ you to stay. I wept and you just rode off into the night without looking back!”

Jaime spread her thighs with his knee and pressed against her in that way that made her instinctively arch. And oh, he was _livid_. “I got my hand cut off _for you_. I jumped into a bear pit _for you_. I produced a priceless sword and armor _for you_. I took Riverrun without bloodshed _for you_. I came north _for you_. You weren’t _convenient_ or a passing distraction to warm my bed until I could return to her. If you can’t see that, then you never knew me at all!” His voice was rough and his eyes were wild, desperate.

“’Twas you who never knew me. If you’d known me at all, Ser, you would never have followed me to my room that night. You wouldn’t have demanded confirmation I was still a maiden then bedded me if you were going to discard me a scant month later. If you wanted to fuck someone not-Cersei for novelty’s sake just so you could validate your worldview that no other woman could ever compare to your twin, there were countless women at the feast who would’ve gladly joined you in your quarters. Why did you have to choose the _one_ woman you _knew_ was hopelessly in love with you?”

Jaime gaped at her, uncharacteristically speechless. His hand on her cheek trembled slightly which only incensed her further. How dare he act like he was the injured party here? Brienne felt like a leak had sprung and she wanted him to drown in her rage. 

“But I suppose there was some symmetry to it all,” she carried on without mercy, feeling a surge of viciousness swell up behind her breastbone. “Fucking the ugliest beast after a lifetime of worshiping at the altar of the most beautiful in all the Seven Kingdoms is quite poetic. Perhaps I was selected because no other woman alive could be _less_ like your sister if she tried. What bigger insult could you have dealt your sister than to take me to bed?”

Jaime flinched, but then his expression hardened and he nodded in that way Brienne had come to dread. It was his way of asserting his own superiority, of indicating that he knew something she didn’t. His hand was steady once more as it slipped from her cheek to palm the nape of her neck.

“It’s not like I assumed it would lead to marriage for us,” she said, suddenly tired and raw, her fury having dissipated even more quickly than it flared up. “But you led me to believe it meant _something_ only to snatch it back at the first test of fidelity. You want to know the worst part though? The worst part is I had to watch you go to your death and nothing I said or did could stop you. Nothing’s more hateful than failing to protect the one you love.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Jaime agreed in that deceptively mild way that made the hairs on her neck stand up.

Brienne thought of the Lannister twins’ entangled forms under the rubble and felt like he’d slapped her. Jaime stared down at her and released a huff of frustration, giving her a slight shake as if admonishing her for her assumption. 

“I bet it felt similar to how _I_ felt when you pulled your little stunt yesterday,” he drawled, appearing grimly satisfied when his words hit home. “You could have told me the truth, you know, and I would have helped you stop the Dragon Queen and the Stark boy, but you shut me out. You went off half-cocked on a suicide mission and it’s only by the grace of the gods that you lived to tell the tale. I can imagine quite vividly the abject fear and dread you experienced when I rode away from Winterfell because it’s how I felt when you barreled into the war room ready to confess all and earn yourself a summary execution.”

“That’s not the same though,” she said in her smallest voice.

Jaime looked like he wanted to say a hundred things at once, but he visibly restrained himself and lowered his forehead to hers. “How is it not the same?” 

When Brienne stayed silent, he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. 

“There’s more. Something else you don’t want to say. Tell me,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

“Tell me,” he said again and she felt his lips whisper tenderly over her temple.

“You won’t understand. You _can’t_ ,” she said, her words little more than breath.

“Try me.”

It was like her throat was constricting and her heart was being twisted into a knot inside her chest. Brienne took a deep breath and spoke in a shaky rasp. “I’ve been alone all my life. My father loved me, but he didn’t know how to raise a girl, especially not a girl like me. He was…distant. I served Renly, Catelyn, and the Stark girls with everything I had. I would have done anything for them, but we weren’t _close_. I was in service to them.” 

He gave a vague hum of understanding. She felt Jaime’s nose sliding over her brow, his breath hot on her eyelids.

“You were the only person I let in. I don’t trust anyone and I trusted you. During the weeks we were together at Winterfell, I was…happy. I felt like I finally knew what it was like to be…” she bit back words like 'known' and 'loved' and settled on, “ _not alone_ , and then you _left_ me.” Her voice cracked on the last, going embarrassingly wet and choked.

And then she was sobbing so hard she could scarcely breathe. Seven hells, she’d sworn she’d never let him see her shed another solitary tear. Her pitiful outburst made Brienne want to die of shame. Did she think somehow everything would turn out differently this time around? Did she think her tears would sway him, make him stay when he hadn’t before?

How could the gods have been so cruel as to place Jaime in her path, knowing he would dismantle her heart and leave her defenseless all over again? 

When she tried to push him off her, Jaime cursed gruffly and pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him. She half-heartedly tried to struggle, but he only tightened his grip on her and it had been so long since she’d been in the circle of his arms that some sick part of her welcomed his touch even if it was borne out of pity.

As Brienne cried into the crook of his neck and felt his hand stroke her hair, she wished she’d died and that the axe had taken her head. Only an absolute wretch would acknowledge her own innate unlovability then allow herself to be comforted by the love of her life who couldn’t love her in return. It was beyond the pale.

When she came back to herself it was to find his right arm slung around her waist, his stump digging into her hip, while his left hand was rubbing circles over her back. Jaime kept murmuring into her ear, but it took her a while to calm down enough to hear his words. 

“I’m here. I’ll never leave you again, Brienne. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he was whispering to her.

“You don’t love me. You don’t even know me,” she said thickly.

“I know you,” he swore, kissing the hollow of her neck where her pulse was racing.

“No, you don’t. All this time you thought I was the one blinded to your faults, that the man I saw when I looked at you didn’t exist. But it is you who put me on a pedestal. You respect me, you trust me, you care for me, but all you see is my honor, my bravery. You don’t know of my weakness. I’m quite pathetic.”

Jaime chuckled under his breath. “You could never be pathetic. You have more dignity in your little finger than the rest of us combined.”

“How can you say that after having witnessed my maudlin display just now?”

“It’s not pathetic or undignified to be honest, to express sorrow.”

“If you had the memory of when you left Winterfell, you’d see the truth of things. You’d turn away from me as you did then. It was _unseemly_ how I presumed I actually had the right…” Brienne trailed off with a strangled sob. “I learned at an early age not to demand, not to ask, not even to _expect_ anything from anyone, least of all a man. But somehow with you…I found myself in a courtyard in the middle of the night _begging_ you to stay with me. So, you see, if you knew me truly you would look upon me with pity, with scorn. You would mistake me for any of the hundreds of infatuated women over the years who threw themselves at your feet in the hopes you would spare them a smile.”

“And yet, I couldn’t name a single one of those women if my life depended upon it, couldn’t describe their likeness or recall a single conversation we shared. Whereas I can remember in vivid detail every disdainful look you cast my way in those early days, every argument, every wistful goodbye, every instance I wanted to close the distance between us and make you mine. Why do you think that is?” Jaime asked, his hand stealing under the hem of her shirt to splay across the small of her back.

The hot brand of his palm against her bare skin almost drove her to distraction. “None of them were your captor,” Brienne finally quipped, but he didn’t rise to the bait, just kept looking at her like she was the one being obtuse. 

Jaime shook his head. “You say you were alone? _I_ was alone before I met you,” he said with feeling. “You don’t trust anyone? _I_ don’t trust anyone. Not even my family, not the way I trust you. I thought that was evident when I sat across from you in a bathtub at Harrenhal and told you my deepest darkest secret that I’d never told another living soul. You think I have dignity when it comes to you? That the obscene depth of my devotion to you hasn’t been blindingly obvious for years?

“I leapt between you and a bear for fuck's sake. If you’ll recall, I had one hand, no weapon, and no plan to speak of at the time. I was running on pure instinct. I couldn’t do anything else, do you understand? I saw you about to be mauled and I jumped into the pit without thinking. So from where I’m sitting if one of the two of us was _hopelessly in love_ with the other, it was me with you, no contest. Is that _unseemly_ enough for you?”

“Stop it, Jaime, I mean it.” Brienne didn’t think she could take much more of this. He was making her want to believe, to hope.

Jaime had gone very still, all coiled tension just waiting to strike, the way a lion did just before it devoured its prey. Then he blinked and his features relaxed into the familiar lines of amused indulgence, but it was too late, she’d seen it for the mask that it was. He was just as aware as she was that they were balancing on the edge of a knife and it could still go either way. The knowledge that he was making a concerted effort not to scare her off made her traitorous heart race, made her squirm at the thought that deep down she wanted to be convinced.

“Stop what?” he said lightly. “Punching holes in your pitifully flimsy notion that your feelings for me are unrequited? Then again, I’m guilty of the same thing. Just as you didn’t give me enough credit, I underestimated your regard for me, too. But in my case, I think there was more of a basis for doubt.” 

Jaime smoothed her hair back from her brow. “You always seem so self-contained. I knew you were fond of me, but I honestly didn’t think I meant as much to you as you do to me. You were sworn to the Stark girls. You had purpose, respect in the North, a trusted place at Lady Sansa’s side. I can imagine thinking you would take my absence in stride. That you would be fleetingly disappointed or angry, but that you would move on by the time spring arrived. If I had seen the way you look at me now and known it for what it was, I would never have left.”

She scoffed. “And yet you did, Jaime. Stop lying to me.”

That was all it took for Jaime to lose his composure and roar like the lion he was. He grabbed ahold of her shoulder and shook her. “Seven hells, Brienne, I’m not lying! I don’t _care_ for you. I _love_ you. I’m _in love_ with you. There’s no timeline where that’s not true. Why the fuck do you think I came north? I came _for you_. I left Cersei and our unborn child to their doom, told the Dragon Queen about my sister’s deception, gave information about the Golden Company and Euron’s fleet, all so I could fight at _your_ side. To tell you the truth, from the moment I saw that abomination in the dragon pit I was quite sure this was a battle that couldn’t be won and I still chose to die with you, to die _for_ you. So I don’t know how, but you got it wrong. If there’s a choice, there’s no world where I don’t choose you.”

Brienne shoved with all of her might and he hurtled to the foot of the bed. “I didn’t get it wrong. You watched me cry and plead with you to stay, and you were unmoved. You chose to die with _her_ rather than live with _me_. More to the point, you hate yourself more than you could ever love me.” 

Jaime righted himself and moved to stand at her bedside. She could tell from the way he cocked his head, the way a knowing smirk curled his lips, that he was enjoying the unique vantage point towering over her afforded him. 

“Oh, I’m well acquainted with self-loathing,” he said. “I’ve earned my fair share over the years. I can easily imagine us in bed, you staring up at me with your fucking ridiculous eyes, and wanting to bolt. I’ve always craved the way you looked at me like I was a man of honor, someone of value to you. But I often felt like a fraud, too. Like I was just waiting for the day you would look at me and you’d realize you were all wrong about me. That I was an aging cripple with shit for honor worth less than the dirt beneath your heel. And on that day of reckoning, I would have been _decimated_. Burned to ash by the repudiation in your bluest gaze.”

He gave a small self-deprecating laugh that chilled her blood to hear it. There was a ring of truth to his words, though, that Brienne could not deny. 

“So yes, if I turn my head and squint I can almost believe that I left you that night because I thought you’d be better off without me and that I was a shit about it since I assumed it’d make it easier for you to move on if you hated me. But I’m more inclined to believe that I have an old friend to thank for this mess instead.”

Brienne tucked her knees into her chest and held on, feeling suddenly adrift at the strange cast to his face. “Old friend? What do you mean?”

Jaime ran a hand through his beard, his eyes distant, haunted, before he met her gaze. “Bran. You said he wanted me to die with Cersei. That he maneuvered my brother into setting me on that course. If I hadn’t ridden south and been taken prisoner by the Dragon Queen’s forces, I wouldn’t have been close enough to have been sent to my death. What if he whispered in my ear at some point after the Battle of Winterfell and that’s why I left you behind?”

Brienne considered it and it was like the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Bran had always had a way of using his calm, clinical voice to his advantage. The lack of emotion in his voice made people trust that when he spoke, his words were simply the unvarnished truth. Over time she saw it again and again, saw him _tug_ on the weakest parts of an individual…their guilt, their pride, their vanity…so they would do what he intended, all while thinking it was their own idea.

Was that what happened with Jaime? She knew the act Jaime most regretted in his life was pushing an innocent child out the window so wouldn’t it have been all too easy for Bran to use that against him? To tap into his guilt and shame, and say something that made him feel like the only way he could earn absolution would be to die with his sister? How had this not occurred to her before?

“I suppose it’s possible,” she conceded grudgingly and Jaime laughed as if he knew she referred to more than just his theory of Bran.

"The only thing I don't understand is why he didn't just tell everyone I was the one who crippled him in the first place. The tiny Stark assassin would've gutted me where I stood before Daenerys could even think of dragging me out to her dragons. It would've been more expedient."

"If they'd killed you then, I would have asked to be released from my oath to Sansa and I never would have accepted a position serving Bran. He knew that. He wanted me. Not for my honor or my bravery, but for my blind loyalty, my unquestioning obedience." Brienne didn't say that she also suspected Bran might've let Jaime live on borrowed time simply to get his hooks into Tyrion. By arranging it so Tyrion was the one who sent his brother to his death, knowingly or unknowingly, Bran ensured his future Hand would be susceptible to manipulation. The combination of grief and guilt would've made for a great foothold to control the last Lannister. 

"Unquestioning obedience?" Jaime arched his brows in disbelief. "For an all-knowing spy, he sure misread you. I could've told him you were as stubborn as an ox."

He edged closer to the bed and she rolled her eyes, but budged over so he could sit beside her. “I hear Tarth is lovely this time of year,” he said and there was a dizzying amount of boyish hope in his voice that Brienne couldn’t bring herself to quash. When he extended his hand to her palm-up, she took it in her own.

“It is. It’ll be even more beautiful in spring.”

He hummed softly and then squeezed her hand. “You were magnificent yesterday, did you know that? You were fucking _luminous_ , blazing with righteousness and truth. It was like looking into the sun. You resembled a famed knight from legend drawing your fiery sword and when you knelt before the Starks, I was certain the gods would strike them down if they so much as touched a hair on your head.”

Brienne ducked her head and blushed. She would never be proud of what she had done, but it warmed her that she had the support of the only person who could fully understand the impossible position she’d been in.

Jaime leaned in close to nuzzle her burning cheek. “I’m jealous of him, you know.”

“Who? Tormund?”

Jaime scoffed as if the very idea was ludicrous. “No, not the ginger wildling. You would never entertain his courtship,” Jaime said blithely, but then paused as if waiting for confirmation and after a long moment, she gave a slight nod because she didn’t have the heart to toy with him right then. “I’m jealous of the other me, the one who got to be the first man to touch you, to kiss you, to make you his. Tell me, how did he seduce you? I’ve been dying to know what he did, what he said, to get the Maid of Tarth to ever accept his advances.”

Brienne snorted. “He complained that I kept my room too hot and then proceeded to use that as a pretext to strip. He purposely fumbled with the laces on his shirt so that he resembled such a helpless creature that I took pity on him and was forced to assist him.”

“He sounds like quite the suave paramour,” Jaime said with a snicker. “The way he smoothly improvised, appealed to knightly chivalry to coax an innocent maiden to help him disrobe like it was nothing. I bet he was effortlessly charming as well. And handsome, let’s not forget handsome.” 

Brienne couldn’t contain a decidedly unladylike guffaw and when Jaime smiled broadly back at her, she was transported to the night of the feast when they’d played that silly drinking game. He’d smiled that same smile then, the one that brought color to her cheeks and made butterflies take to flight in her belly. Instead of souring the moment, the memory gave her hope that what she’d felt then had been real and that it could be real again.

Jaime must have sensed the shape of her thoughts because he nodded as if something had been decided between them.

“I’m going to do it right this time," he said. "Take this nice and slow so there’s no confusion. We will sail to the Sapphire Isle. I will court you properly. I will woo you with my suave male wiles, ply you with bejeweled weaponry until you deem me worthy. Only then will we marry and never again will you doubt that I think the sun rises and sets on you. Although, knowing us, I’m sure we’ll still argue over who loves the other more even when we’re old and grey, but I’ll win each time and you’ll just have to come to terms with that.”

Brienne’s chin quivered as tears came to her eyes, but for the first time in years, they were happy tears.

Jaime grew serious as he thumbed away a tear that rolled down her cheek. “We were given a second chance and I don’t intend to squander it. Do you?”

Brienne shook her head and let Jaime pull the furs over them and tug her into his arms.

*****

The next morning before they set off, Brienne let Jaime help fasten her swordbelt around her waist and secure Oathkeeper at her hip. He looked absurdly smug as he gave the sword a fond pat and grinned at her.

“Just to make it crystal clear since there have been so many misunderstandings between us,” he said, “ _my heart_ is yours, it will _always_ be yours.”

Brienne pulled him into a kiss, their first proper one in this lifetime, and felt his answering smile against her lips.


End file.
